But I have learned adversity's "sweet uses,"
And brought my soul up pure through every soil;
Have I no right to scorn the man's dead power
That leaves you far below me at this hour?
Scorn you I do, while pitying even more
The ignoble weakness of a strength debased.
Do I yet mourn the faith that died of yore—
The trust by timorous treachery effaced?
Through all, and over all, my soul mounts free
To heights of peace you cannot hope to gain,